


The Big Fat Greek Wedding

by for_autumn_i_am



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Eventual Smut, Family Bonding, Kylux Adjacent Ship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sharing a Bed, Summer Vacation, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 14:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13078797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_autumn_i_am/pseuds/for_autumn_i_am
Summary: Matt accompanies Kylo and Armitage to their destination wedding and meets Techie for the first time. There's a little problem: Techie is cute as hell; but he's the groom's brother, which means that he's off-limits. Matt must resist him.





	The Big Fat Greek Wedding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starkickback](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkickback/gifts).



> This fic was written for the Kylux Big Bang 2017; my artist was @[starkickback](http://starkickback.tumblr.com), the Master of Hot Fluff - check out her blog for incredible cuteness and the most amazing AUs!

 

Matt Solo was fairly certain that he'd been brutally murdered in a port in his previous life. He hated them with such a vengeance that it warranted an explanation beyond logic or human understanding.   

There he was, in a short-sleeved denim shirt and flip flops, regretting every decision he ever made in his twenty-six years, the greatest hits including agreeing to this trip in the first place and his present attire, which was absurdly inappropriate for the chilly air. He was lead to believe that Greece was a Mediterranean country: he imagined tranquil little sailboats on sapphire waters. Instead, he was met with cargo ships teeming in the cold, gray port of Thessaloniki. Also, everything smelled of rotting seaweed, fish, and oil.

He felt deceived.

Natives and tourists alike were coming and going, chattering in odd languages; they looked like colourful birds undisturbed by their grim surroundings, chirruping on as they headed for their concrete cage hotels. He could make out some Greek words here and there: the locals were talking about food and coffee and distant plans, and an elderly gentleman was either very passionate about buttons or Matt needed to refresh his vocabulary. Grandfather had made valiant efforts to teach them the language, but he and Kylo were more interested in the dances and donkeys and myths.

One of the reasons Kylo wanted his wedding to be in Greece was an attempt to reclaim his heritage, to recover the motherland Anakin Hermes had left at age ten; another reason was that he was engaged to Armitage Hux, PhD, who was currently searching for a publisher for his dissertation-turned-book about ancient Greek warfare. Said book was mind-blowingly boring and bland. Matt had had the misfortune of reading it from cover to cover — Armitage hadn’t only sent him a signed copy, printed and bound by his own hand, but had made an effort to work its contents into casual conversation over dinner whenever Matt visited Kylo, which resulted in Matt visiting less often.

Now they were about to spend a week together. Matt had made notes on the cursed book and re-watched _Sparta_ and _300_ in preparation for some extended conversations. Spending some quality family time together before the madness of the ceremony was Kylo’s idea; it was also his idea to have the get-together on a luxury yacht.

Matt did not oppose the “luxury yacht” part of the plan, nor did he mind meeting Armitage’s brother for the first time ever. Matt was convinced that he was a cryptid; he didn’t even know his name. Maybe he didn’t have a name. He lived with Armitage, but Matt never saw him on his brief visits — he’d heard noises, and there were creeping shadows; once he’d caught Armitage laying a tray over his brother’s threshold and knocking on the door. It reminded him of leaving some milk out for a leprechaun so they wouldn’t harm you.

His curiosity got the better of him, and he agreed to fly his ass to Greece, Armitage’s tedious lectures be damned. Also, he missed Kylo. When he left Stillwater to move in with the Hux brothers, it was like losing a limb. Matt was still having phantom pain.

They were late, which meant that Kylo was driving. Matt sat down on his luggage, watched the seagulls fighting each other for trash in the parking lot. He flinched every time a car passed by. He had no idea what type Kylo had rented, so every Toyota or Nissan could be him rolling in. He checked his phone to make sure it was no longer in flight mode, eyed the eerie cranes hoisting heavy metal boxes onto the ships, and then continued to watch the epic battle of the seagulls.

It felt like he was still sitting on a plane, arriving to a foreign-yet-familiar place; Greece had always been a postland-country for him, a Utopia pinned to the fridge with a magnet. It had never seemed real, and now that he was here it looked even more like a vision. A battered Peugeot swished by, honking loudly; he sprang to his feet and grinned when he saw Kylo waving to him through the rolled-down window. His radio was blaring Sisters of Mercy. What a world-class asshole. Fuck, he loved him.

He jogged to the parking lot, sidestepping some weirdly shaped tiny trees, his luggage flying behind him. Kylo jumped out of the car and opened his big arms, yelling:

“Mattie!”

“Hey!” Matt shouted back and they all but collided. The air was knocked out of his lungs as Kylo pulled him into a bearhug, but Matt didn’t care. Choking, he squeezed Kylo tightly. “Ew, you’re sweaty, why are you sweaty? It’s freezing balls.”

“Yeah, Hux tells me it gets like this when it’s about to rain. Anyway, I just _had_ to say goodbye to the hotel’s gym before we left. They had a squat rack. I almost shat myself. You should've been there.” He pulled back, and reached to ruffle up Matt’s hair; he dodged him expertly, and swatted his ass, earning a barked laugh.

“Children,” Armitage tsked. He’d just gotten out of the car; he looked every inch a British tourist in his pressed white pants and panama hat. He was also holding a fucking daiquiri.

“Starting early?” Matt teased, his grin twisting to a taut smile, too bright and too wide.

“I have a headache,” Armitage said, “and I’m technically on an extended honeymoon.”

Kylo nudged Matt, and stage-whispered, “He’s getting married to his drinking problem.”

“Whoa, congrats,” Matt said, mock-awed. Armitage scoffed, and took an elegant sip, pinky up. While he wasn’t looking and Matt was distracted, Kylo managed to snatch his brother’s glasses.

“Still an enemy of eye surgery?” he asked, dancing away with them.

Matt reached for him blindly. “Hey, give those back!”

“You should seriously consider it,” Kylo advised, and held up the glasses to the sun, squinting at them. “They’re smudgy as hell. No wonder you can’t see shit.”

Matt tried to wrestle them back while Armitage opened the back seat door.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Uh, a minute,” his brother said. Matt turned to the voice; all he saw was vague patches of colour and form, and the gray mush of the sky. He made pretense of clawing for his glasses, but he was too focused on eavesdropping to put up a real fight.

“I’ll ask the captain to wait a bit,” Armitage said in a soft tone Matt had never heard from him before. “We board the ship, you look around, get a sense of it. I’ll lead you to your cabin, and if anybody touches your luggage I’ll bite their arms off. It’ll be only the four of us and a small crew. Nobody will bother you. If you don’t like it, we’ll figure something out. Does that sound all right?”

“Is there w—”

“Yes, of course there is internet.”

Kylo got bored messing with Matt and put the glasses back on him gently; the world shifted back into focus. Kylo flicked Matt’s nose, making him frown. “There, bro. Wanna meet Techie? He’s cool.”

Matt wanted to answer, but he made the mistake of glancing in the car’s direction. He caught a glimpse of two long legs, smooth and perfect, and it was enough to make him stare some more as Techie got out of the car.

His thoughts were somewhere between “birth of Venus who?” and “god fucking damn.”

Techie was wearing a yellow sweater and nothing more, or so it seemed until the wind pushed against him, lifting the hem and revealing tiny shorts underneath; he had cute sandals on and a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses pushed up to his forehead. He held onto them, approaching Kylo and Matt like he’d just stepped out of some music video, larger than life, orange hair and blue eyes in glorious technicolor.  

For a second, Matt considered that maybe all of this was some practical joke, that they hired an Instagram model to act as Armitage’s baby brother — to what end, he had no idea; he only knew that Techie looked like an advertisement for heartbreak.

“How do you do,” Techie said, extending a hand and then dropping it almost immediately.

“Hello stranger,” Matt blurted out, throat dry; Techie winced, and offered his hand again, this time holding it up in a sort of unnatural, stiff angle.

“Sorry, Bill Hux, hi.”

Matt shook on it. Techie’s skin was even softer than it looked. He didn’t grasp Matt’s hand at all, just limply suffered through the introduction.

“Don’t call him Bill,” Armitage popped up behind Techie. Techie stood up a bit taller with Armitage near him; they were roughly the same height. “Are we good to go?”

“Do you have my—”

“I’m getting your bag,” Armitage said, and turned to Kylo. “Ren, please help me with Techie’s stuff.”

“Gotcha,” Kylo sang, and headed to the car.

Techie stared after him, then looked back at Matt.

“Kylo told me you were twins,” he said.

“Well, we are twins.”

“You don’t look alike.”

“We do. We’re identical.”

“Oh.”

Both of them noticed that they were still holding hands. Techie pulled back and put his fist over his chest. He turned his head to look at the sea; for a second, it seemed like he might speak, but then he swallowed whatever he was going to say next. They were standing quite close, in an awkward silence that was louder than the clamour of the port and Kylo’s struggle with the luggage.

“It’s kinda weird that he’s like, Armitage, and then they named you Bill,” Matt said, remembering too late that Armitage specifically asked him not to call Techie Bill; maybe it was the same thing as with Kylo and Ben, and maybe he’d just made a total ass of himself.

“It’s short for Fitzwilliam,” Techie said. Matt laughed, then bit his lips when Techie didn’t join in. “Are you a Mathias or a Matthew?” he asked, still staring at the sea.

Matt squinted at it; it was just a big, boring body of water. Nothing special. Judging by the intensity with which Techie was looking at it, he expected Scylla to emerge from the seething foams any minute.

“I’m just a Matt. Our parents are simple people.”

“That, or they didn’t bother to uh, give twins longer names than er, one syllable.”

Matt frowned. Was Techie attempting to make a joke? The delivery didn’t suggest it, and it was kind of blunt to be an icebreaker, the sort of banter which is only said after a couple of beers and some general cheer.

“Are you British?” Matt asked to change the topic.

“Yes, we are, w-why?”

“You don’t have the accent he has,” he said, gesticulating at Armitage, who was attempting to haul up two brightly colored bags at once, and failing at it. Matt should’ve offered his help, probably; Kylo already had his hands full.

“I didn’t want a British accent,” Techie said. “I changed it. You have an accent, they call you names.”

“I—” Matt started to apologise, but Techie interrupted.

“I better go help Armie.” With that, he turned on his heels and left Matt standing there like a forlorn dick.

So. That went pretty bad. And then it only got worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: second-hand embarrassment; it’s a Techienician fic, after all 
> 
> The fic will update with significantly longerer chapters and a lot of shenigans; stay tuned until I invoke my muse. Once again, my artist-in-arms is @[starkickback](http://starkickback.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks for the beta to bioticnerfherder!


End file.
